


One Word

by thepointoftheneedle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Betty is the black hood’s daughter, Diners, F/M, Happy Ending, Jughead Jones is a Good Friend, Sad Betty, archie is in jail, betty is from Seaside, waitress betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointoftheneedle/pseuds/thepointoftheneedle
Summary: Betty Cooper, student at Seaside High, waitress, daughter of a serial killer serves coffee and burgers to two beautiful and mysterious travellers on their way from the Leopold and Lowe Juvenile Detention Centre home to Riverdale.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 34
Kudos: 84
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	One Word

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from this line from Oedipus at Colonus by Sophocles “One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.”

From The Seaside Sentinel. From The Riverdale Register

They were here again this evening. Betty looked forward to their visits but, at the same time, it felt a little like being terribly hungry while watching through a window as a family sat down to eat at a table groaning under a huge Thanksgiving dinner. The companionship that she longed for, the simple act of drinking a cup of coffee with a friend or a lover, displayed before her as if to mock her solitude. She had taken the job to provide some activity to fill the long empty evenings and the weekends which stretched unrelentingly before her when classes finished on Friday afternoon. She was determined, however, despite everything that had been taken from her, that she would not become bitter; she would not begrudge these young people the happiness that she could not enjoy. She grabbed her order pad and hurried to stand by the booth, welcoming them with a friendly, alert expression.

The girl was fairytale beautiful. Her hair was raven black, shiny and somehow heavy as it rested in soft, glossy waves on her shoulders. Her eyebrows were especially stunning, arched in expressive curves above thick, long eyelashes. Her eyes were dark too, almost as black as her hair, but unusually sparkling and lively. Betty always looked forward to seeing what she was wearing. Today it was a wool suit, either Chanel or a knock off that someone of Betty’s limited experience with haute couture could not distinguish from the real thing. The mauve colour was beautiful against her perfectly smooth olive skin. Betty felt even more conscious of the cheap fabric of her uniform with its static cling, especially when accented by the coffee stain on the skirt where she had carelessly splashed herself when refilling a cup. The boyfriend matched his girl. His shiny hair, so black it was almost blue, fell in tousled curls over his forehead. Slim-hipped and broad-shouldered, his mouth was full and soft. He was entirely masculine and at the same time seemed to exude a gentleness and vulnerability that most men tended to hide or smother. When Betty asked “What can I get for you this evening?” he looked up at her under eyelashes that were the natural version of what girls paid a fortune to have replicated expensively in the salon. They seemed to almost brush against his cheekbones, they were so long. And his eyes. The first time she’d seen them she’d had to swallow a gasp of surprise. She’d expected them to be brown or hazel but they were a blue that sometimes resembled the colour of steel and at others seemed almost turquoise. They were also appraising and intelligent. She felt that he could look at her and, with a glance, determine her essence. His clothes, however, did not match his girl’s in sophistication. He wore dark jeans, low on the hips. His suspenders hung at the sides of his thighs. Perhaps they were uncomfortable when he was driving and so he'd pushed them from his shoulders or maybe it was some sort of a style statement. Heavy work boots and a flannel shirt over a T-shirt gave him a blue collar aesthetic that surely must be affectation if he was with a girl who clearly shopped at the most exclusive boutiques. He also wore a grey beanie which looked to have seen better days.

Betty liked to imagine their lives as she waited to replenish their coffee cups, hers with cream and sugar, his black without sweetness. Sometimes she imagined they were returning from some cultural adventure. Perhaps a gallery or a museum. They were always deep in conversation, probably discussing the artist’s employment of chiaroscuro or the importance of amber in bronze age commerce. Betty remembered when her life had encompassed conversations that were not purely transactional but she couldn't remember when the last one had occurred. He seemed to be an undemonstrative lover; he didn’t take her hand across the table or brush his long, expressive fingers along her jawline. As she imagined that, Betty could almost feel the sweep of his hand on her own skin and she put a hand up to her face to try to capture the ghost of his touch. She supposed that he valued privacy for their passion. Once, months ago, as they were leaving, the girl had been at the verge of tears and she had seen him put a comforting arm around her shoulder and pull her in for a brief but affectionate hug. Perhaps they had been fighting, she had thought, trying to be a good person and find feelings of sympathy and concern for them. She was fairly successful. She never saw them separately and only ever once a week although the day varied.

Tonight the order was much as she expected. The girl would have a chicken salad, hold the dressing, and a coke. He’d like two bacon cheeseburgers, an order of chilli fries, an order of onion rings and a chocolate shake. They’d both have coffee while they waited. “No hot wings tonight?” Betty asked.

“Oh well, if you insist. An order of hot wings on the side.” He grinned and her heart skipped. He was usually serious and intense but the smile, when it came, was luminous like the sun appearing from behind clouds. She scribbled on the order pad and hurried back to the pass before the girl thought the impertinent waitress was flirting with her man. Of course she had nothing to worry about on that account. No man, lucky enough to have been chosen by that girl, would be stupid enough to look elsewhere for gratification. He certainly wasn’t stupid. He could really eat though. He never left anything and the girl seldom had to wait for him to finish. He ate with speed and efficiency almost as if he wasn’t quite sure when he would get the opportunity again.

Tonight they seemed more energised than usual. As she carried plate after plate over to place in front of him she couldn’t help overhearing the occasional word when ordinarily their conversation was carried out in hushed tones. “Innocence project”, “good chance,” “retrial”, she heard. She assumed they were discussing a true crime documentary or perhaps a movie. Surely their gilded lives weren't marred by crime or violence? 

Two weeks ago they had arrived earlier than usual. She had been a vision in a satin gown, a wrist corsage that perfectly matched its lavender hue attached with lace and ribbon. He wore a dark blue suit that made his eyes look even more breathtaking. The beanie had been absent, although the boots remained, albeit freshly polished. It was clear that they were dressed for their prom. Betty’s heart ached in her chest. She’d told everyone who'd asked that she didn’t need a prom, that she preferred her evenings to be spent with her books or pouring coffee at the diner but, as that evening had worn on and no fairy godmother had arrived to bring her a ballgown and a pumpkin coach, the loss she had suffered felt like a knife twisting in her stomach. If she had gone though, if she had gone… The evening would have been ruined for everyone. She would have been a thunderstorm at the picnic, leeches in the swimming hole, the serial killer’s daughter at the prom. Unthinkable. It was enough that her classmates had tolerated her presence at all during senior year. It would have been understandable if they had ostracised her completely. Even Kevin found it hard to be near her, the ghost of Midge always in his mind, but he fixed a smile on his face and asked about her weekend each Monday. He never asked her to go to the Bijou anymore though. Betty swiped a tear from her eye as she went to take the order from the couple who were actually going to get their big night.

But the girl had been upset again. This time she couldn’t stop the tears from falling, leaving streaks in perfectly applied make-up. She shouldn’t be crying in a dress that beautiful. Betty looked enquiringly at him over the top of his date's head. Was there anything she could do to help? He looked at her and gave a tiny shake of the head “Just two coffees please. And a glass of water.”

As she returned with their drinks she heard the girl say, “I just can’t Jughead. He was so brave about it but I just can’t be like him. I’m glad we went though. I wanted him to see the dress. And thank you. You’ve been so wonderful. Do you mind if we just don't?” He smiled at Betty as she put the coffee in front of him and put his hand over the girl’s where it rested on the table.

“It’s fine Ronnie. We’ve done the important bit. He just needs to believe you’re having the whole senior year thing. He’d never forgive himself if…” Back at the counter Betty couldn’t hear any more of their soft conversation. Ten minutes later to her surprise he waved her back over. “Actually we’ve decided to eat.” They ordered as if it were an ordinary night and they weren’t regaled in their finery. She took off her corsage and laid it on the table and within thirty minutes he had found a way to bring ringing peals of laughter from her. He smiled as she laughed, his fondness for her apparent. It was strange Betty thought, that fondness was the word she thought of when she saw him look at the girl. She was beautiful and sexy and yet his affection for her seemed entirely pure. Perhaps she had misunderstood their relationship and he was the gay best friend. And yet, when she had gone to collect plates, leaning forward over the table, she thought she had seen him glance at her cleavage almost unconsciously, in a way that Kevin never had.

They sat over coffee refills until late in the evening, the minutes of the prom and the afterparties and the illicit hotel room liaisons drifting past them just as Betty's had drifted away from her but with, apparently, much less regret. Just as she started to check sugar shakers and wipe down tables, they paid and headed out. He looked back over his shoulder at her to say, “Thanks Betty.” Her jaw dropped before she realised that he must have read her name tag and she felt foolish. The girl looked up at him and a wide smile broke on her face as she dug him in the ribs. He hurried out to the truck, the girl almost running behind on much shorter legs, saying something that made him wave a hand dismissively and blush furiously.

The week after the non-prom they seemed to come straight from school. She wore a short plaid skirt and a sweater with knee socks and Mary Janes that seemed almost scandalous in their innocence. He was in a flannel and jeans as usual but he had scrawls of ink on the back of his hand. They were deep in conversation as she went over. She was trying not to eavesdrop but couldn’t help catching a few phrases, “Evidence”, “to the woods”, “that night”, “not capable”, “your father.” She wondered if they were in some sort of trouble. Perhaps this was a forbidden romance that Papa would not countenance. Maybe they were stealing moments for their trysts in some remote cabin in the woods. “Like Romeo and Juliet,” she thought, leaning her chin on her hand at the counter. And then Juliet was paying the bill, as she always did, and they were heading out into the twilight, climbing into an old blue pick up and rattling off back into their mysterious lives.

And now, this evening, they were back, spreading out files and sheets of paper all over the table so that she struggled to find a place to put down the last of the plates. As she moved a file to one side she saw what looked like a mugshot of a muscular, red haired young man standing against the black lines of a height marker. Not a crime doc on Netflix then. Something much darker. The mystery deepened.

She smiled, trying to convey solidarity rather than judgement at what seemed to be a tough time, and he looked up at her shyly through the mass of dark curls, with an intensity that made her heart skip in her chest. She glanced nervously at his friend trying to make it obvious that she wouldn't flirt with her man. The girl didn't seem perturbed at all but rather looked appraisingly from Betty to her dining companion. She seemed to make a quick calculation and then pointed to the mugshot “My beau, Archie. Cruelly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. But I’m going to get him out, with the help of the Innocence Project and his steadfast best friend here. Aren’t we Jughead?”

He looked confused by her sudden urge to share their business with the wait staff but he smiled reassuringly and nodded. The movement made the curls dance and Betty wanted nothing more in the world than to reach out and touch their softness. She managed to restrain herself and respond with a gentle, “Good luck. He’s lucky to have such loyal friends.” before returning to her place at the counter to imagine how her own life might have been different if she had been supported as the redhead was supported in his darkest hour.

As she wiped the counter and restocked the pies there seemed to be a disagreement at the booth. The beautiful girl had made it abundantly clear that they weren’t lovers so Betty wondered what could have provoked the dispute. He was shaking those dark curls again, almost as if he wanted to tease her. “There’s no way,” she heard him protest. As they gathered up the files and papers thirty minutes later Betty caught his eye and smiled shyly. He grinned back at her and the girl noticed. Her face lit up with happiness and she seemed to shove him towards the counter, slipping him a a couple of bills to pay. “Go on. Trust me, she’s so into you,” she hissed in a stage whisper.

He was blushing again as he approached the counter. “Hi Betty. I’m Jughead. My friend there says that I should simply walk over and ask for a date. It seems pretty unsubtle but I have no idea how to do this. So." He dragged in a deep and uneven breath, "Would you like to go out on a date with me sometime?” His cheeks were flaming now. It was a safe bet that this wasn’t an everyday occurrence for him.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted that so much. She wanted his cool blue eyes to look deeply into hers, his fingers holding hers in the movie theatre, his lips on hers, his arm around her shoulders. If she was honest she wanted rather more than innocent first date touches. But she was Betty Cooper and her father was the Black Hood and no-one in their right mind would want to befriend her let alone date her. “Oh I’d love to but you don’t want to go on a date with me. Or you shouldn’t. You see I’m…”

“You’re Betty. That’s all that matters to me. I certainly don’t care about who your dad is or what he did. At least I care because it hurt you but that's all.”

Betty had never expected anyone to be able to look past what had happened. For him to understand her darkest secret and to want to know her anyway was simply too much generosity. So that almost explained why she kissed him, right there in the diner, with his friend Veronica laughing in delight back at the booth, Betty’s hands in his hair as he stepped forward into the embrace, her back against the counter, a moan deep in her throat as his tongue stroked her lip. That almost explained why she kissed him. The rest of the explanation was, as she said years later in her speech at their wedding surrounded by their friends, that he was simply the sexiest man in the world and she couldn't keep away from him a moment longer. 


End file.
